


Eager to Please

by Novanii



Series: Runner [8]
Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Adam reflects on 01/27/2021 Dynamite, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, adam realizing that he's about to enter an abusive relationship, and deciding he doesn't care, is when i say he's hit rock bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29166582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novanii/pseuds/Novanii
Summary: I-Con (ˈīˌkän) noun1. One who is the object of great attention and devotion; an idol2. A person or thing regarded as a representative symbol of something3. An entity that will not die4. A being or force that is stronger than death5. MATT HARDY
Relationships: Kenny Omega/"Hangman" Adam Page
Series: Runner [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055381
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Eager to Please

**A.**

I-Con (ˈīˌkän) _noun_

1\. One who is the object of great attention and devotion; an idol

2\. A person or thing regarded as a representative symbol of something

3\. An entity that will not die 

4\. A being or force that is stronger than death

5\. MATT HARDY 

The Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City was a scene set in Adam Page’s dreams. The stage had hosted acts like Brittney Spears, Avenged Sevenfold, David Bowie, Paramore, All Time Low, Guns N’ Roses, Korn, Iron Maiden, and two farm boys from the rural south who somehow sneaked in before the curtain fell. The wrestling fans in t-shirts, jeans, and bawdy signs, didn’t match the elegant balconies they crowded. The ring was a jagged piece of metallic architecture placed on an old warn, wood floor. Adam Page, twenty-two years old, settled in the far corner with his heart in his throat and his childhood idol adjacent to him. The microphone lifted to Matt Hardy’s lips like he intended to speak. At that moment as Matt Hardy looked over the crowd, it was like a fantasy. Something he spun-up while he bounced on the trampoline with his sister and begged her to let him try the Twist of Fate one more time. 

In the 1970 census, a few years before his birth, Matt Hardy’s hometown of Cameron, North Carolina had a whopping population of 204 individuals. In 1990, when Matt and his brother Jeff were mimicking the moves _they_ learned off TV on the trampoline, the population was an impressive 215. Cameron was a small town in the heart of tobacco country, Virginia and Carolina being one of the few places in the United States to grow the desired plant. Running down to the coast, once out of the foothills of the Appalachians and Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina was flat and balmy. Unlike the dense red clay of the Piedmont region, the soil was silty and perfect for farming. Matt probably never saw more than a few inches of snow a Winter. A few hours to the East and he’d stand at the edge of the Atlantic. Along the cat’s claw thin barrier Islands, he’d watch the waves wash over white sand. Hear the whispers of shipwrecks the vicious coast of North Carolina claimed. 

A stupid kid like Adam Page, eyeballs glued to the TV screen as WWF played Monday Night Raw or later Smackdown, heard these stories of the Hardy Boyz and looked at his own life. Aaron's Creek, Virginia, made Cameron look like a metropolis. Adam’s hometown was so small it didn’t even deserve a Wikipedia page. His family had deep roots in Virginia because it was a state for lovers. His father also raised tobacco and Adam grew-up amongst the viridian fields, laid out for acres around the house. There wasn’t a lot of money for Christmas most years and Adam knew more about the intricacies of cattle farming than he sometimes cared to admit to his classmates. Yet, while his best friends extolled the Hardys for their daredevil stunts, ladders, and chairs. Adam idolized them because they were a proof of concept. That it was possible for a hard-working, farm working, Virgin-lina boy, to grow-up and be hot shit. 

In 2013, Adam was starting to warm-up, with a brand new Ring of Honor contract and some neon green trunks. At Final Battle, the crown jewel event of the promotion he just signed-to, Adam had no choice but to laugh as Matt Hardy was almost booed out of the arena the moment he got a mic in his hand. It made Adam feel like a hero. Of the two, the audience preferred Adam Page to Matt Hardy, just incredible. Of course, Matt Hardy, the Iconic, was a manipulative and arrogant son of a bitch, who claimed more than was his to take. Never meet your heroes, they say, and when Adam met his, he was kind of a dick. Yet, when Matt Hardy clasped his hand and gave him a firm handshake, that felt like a small victory. An inner ten-year-old in Adam promised to never wash it again. 

It was also a statement. A statement that even if Matt Hardy thought he was better than everybody, he still had to treat Adam with some measure of respect. Never once did Adam allow the stars in his eyes to blind him. There was no point in fighting a legend if it was only half the legend— Adam was going to get all of Matt Hardy, or nothing. So, he slapped Matt Hardy across the cheek and dragged out the old champion.

A year later, when Adam worked under Hardy’s personal brand, OMEGA, Matt would talk up the youthful Adam Page. Call him the future of wrestling, with his impressive moonsaults, clever counters, fearless attitude, and ‘never say die’ mentality. Then stiff a kid strapped for cash twenty-five bucks. In New York, it was a good showing that night. Adam showed a lot of heart. Surely, he impressed someone upstairs— but he didn’t win. And Adam didn’t know what the point of having ‘heart’ was if he couldn’t win with it. Having ‘heart’ is the wrestling equivalent of a participation trophy. 

In the Hammerstein Ballroom though, in 2013, a Twist of Fate would plant Adam on his head and the match would end at seven minutes and twenty seconds. That same night, just a couple of months after their New Japan debut, the Young Bucks defeated ACH and TaDarius Thomas. In due course, the Jacksons would join the Bullet Club with one Kenny Omega. Next month, Jimmy Jacobs, Roderick Strong, and BJ Whitmer formed the Decade, then called Adam out in the same breath, all for daring to dream bigger than the East Coast that Ring of Honor frequented. That night, in New York City, in the heart of Manhattan, the Hammerstein ballroom became a pivoting point for Adam’s life. Matt Hardy was Adam’s first breakpoint. 

Through the course of 2014, Adam followed Matt’s invitation into OMEGA and crisscrossed central Carolina in search of his next break. Alongside his then tag-partner, Corey Hollis, Adam wrestled one more match in the ring with Matt Hardy. With the addition of his equally strange brother: Jeff Hardy. An eight-man tag where for a bizarre moment Adam was in the corner with the Hardy Boyz. Twenty years on from WWF ladder matches and the two men, closer to forty than thirty, could still go. Go with the speed and intensity of their youth. With the reckless abandon that defined their careers. These were the type of guys who looked at a wrestling ring and asked, “ _you know what needs_ ?” Then answered: _“More hardware.”_ Watching Matt Hardy, Adam learned when to slow, when to hasten, when to wait, when to press the advantage. Little tricks of the trade. He absorbed all of it like a sponge and held it tight to his chest. Treasure and gold to spend a little farther down the road. 

Adam learned that Matt Hardy ran equal parts hot and cold. He was a little off, in a way that wasn’t healthy, but Adam blamed that on a history of concussions and injuries. Arrogant but in a way that was condescending and so he was always willing to groom a newbie to greatness. In fact, Matt Hardy took great pride in taking some young kid and making them a ‘star.’ In a way, every OMEGA recruit was some pet project of Matt or Jeff Hardy. No better way to pat yourself on the back than to _make_ someone. It was never about the protege, though, it was about Matt Hardy. It was about his ego trip, to be able to say—

‘Look what I did for Adam Page.’

And he could cash in his ‘good person’ chip for the week. 

Oh, and how Adam knows how it goes. Like, a favorite catchy tune. 

BJ Whitmer ruffled his hair and a stupid twenty-four-year-old, hoping for approval, construed it as affectionate. Unaware that the gesture was more like the way a man polishes the rearview window of his new SUV. Yeah, he likes the vehicle, it’s expensive, he’s invested a lot, and he’d get really pissed if someone keyed the paint, but it was nothing but an object. A thing that he owns. A possession to be used and thrown away when it was no longer interesting. Adam was a good boy though and he’d do anything to be wanted, needed, useful. Even pick-up a chair and go against his better nature. The waves of frustration, internal conflict his own actions created, broke him until all that was left was a defensive, angry man biting at any hand that came too close. So, Adam no longer recognized who he was in the mirror. BJ Whitmer didn’t want to see ROH Champion Adam Page, he just wanted someone to carry his bags.

Then, falling in line with Cody was like falling into an old groove, well worn and well-trodden. When Cody handed that chair to Adam, he knew exactly what to do with it. How to hold Kenny fast and to twist his head so he’d see his incoming braining. Years ago Adam had been wounded and he had never healed. The blood infected and boiled, a slit through his throat hemorrhaging down his bruised chest. Cody stuck his finger in Adam’s festering resentment and anxiety, dug out his trachea. Weaponized Adam’s unspoken fear that Kenny Omega thought he was better than Adam Page and he was _using_ Adam like BJ did two years ago. When Kenny ripped the U.S. title from Adam’s hands and handed it back to Jay White —who he thought they all hated anyway— it was like a slap in the face. That was _his_ moment, Cody declared, he ruined, he stole it. It took a couple of dropkicks from Kota Ibushi and a V-trigger he couldn’t technically remember, for Adam to realize he’d been played. Cody brought Adam no closer to _his_ moment and Adam had ruined his closest friendships. All for a stupid belt. Cody never wanted to see U.S. IWGP Champion Adam Page, he just wanted someone to beat-up Ibushi.

Kenny never remarked on all of it, probably because he thought Adam too pitiful to deserve admonishment. Or, that his loyalty could be bartered for with games of Mario Tennis. So long as Adam stayed in line and kept his mouth shut, they were fine. Or, maybe Kenny was more forgiving than Adam gave him credit for. That was too much logic for his brain to handle these days, though. So, he let the ideas drown at the bottom of bottles. Other things floated around in his beers and whiskey shots too.

His family once owned a gentle Paso Fino gelding. A sweet boy with soft brown flanks and soulful black eyes. While riding with his father Adam asked if he could cross a field with the horse, if the Paso Fino would canter. Could he persuade this gentle creature to do such a thing? His father chuckled and waxed, “of course you can, he's eager to please.” And sure enough, Adam and the Paso Fino flew across the field, in the long smooth gait of the breed. It was beautiful and for a second it was like they shared a mind, but he wished his father never said those words to him. Because every so often, “eager to please,” applies better to Adam than the horse. 

FTR put a bit in Adam’s mouth and led him by the bridle for three months. Somehow their inevitable betrayal came as a shock. It had just been that drinking and joking with Kenny was nice, but the tension in the EVP room was like poison. While the Bucks sat easy, Adam was dying, and FTR, in their caring familiarity was like a breath of fresh air. He wished he could’ve been there for Kenny but he _had_ been there for Kenny and didn’t he deserve a chance to unwind? Unwork the knife from his gut and enjoy an evening with old friends? Stupid, stupid, stupid, so stupid, so blind, so _eager to please,_ that he’d trade real friends for fake friends. FTR played Adam’s fragile ego like a fiddle and left him in the aftermath of his own decisions. Alone and with just Kenny, who no longer wanted anything to do with him. 

And after all those lessons, it was painful to realize that Adam Page was just another trinket for the Young Bucks to marvel over. A living, breathing camera stand to film BTE bits and then do the complex editing, giving a polish to the final product. That was the deal, he understood and agreed to when walking into the Bullet Club. He was to be the problem solver. The replacement big guy now that Gallows was gone. Adam beats up the enemies of the Bullet Club and he stayed out of the title shot picture, good deal. A jobber they can hand a trio belt to and smirk over because the Bucks are such good guys. Adam really thought they were his friends and Adam wished he could say he used the Bucks like he used BJ but he never loved BJ like he loved Matt and Nick. It was the first time he was ever happy being a prop but it still hurt, especially the outrage in their eyes when he started thinking for himself. 

How _dare_ he become a tag-team champion when that’s what _they_ wanted? That was the deal though with Matt and Nick, that he stayed out of the way. Adam violated the terms and their friendship crumbled around the broken covenant. 

Kenny though, out of all of these betrayals and losses which had left Adam numb to the idea that he was better off alone—

Kenny fucking hurt.

Some of the ideas lacked foundation. Some drowned in his alcohol. Some were inklings from years of standing behind a man he was never going to beat. Most of them made Adam feel like an asshole. The ideas went along the tune of:

That Adam was a shitty replacement for Kota Ibushi, the golden lover trapped on the other side of the pacific. When he was in Japan and had unwedged his head from his ass, Adam liked Kota. Kota was brilliant, a true star, and he understood, totally, why Kenny loved him. There was nothing personal or even resentful in this uninspired realization. It wasn’t jealousy. It was the truth and it was a truth Adam had to bear when Kenny let him collapse in the middle of the ring at All Out. Kota Ibushi could win a G1. Become the intercontinental and IWGP heavyweight champion all in one night. Adam couldn’t even beat Chris Jericho. Kota Ibushi was the God of wrestling and Adam Page was the dirty sinner kicked down to the dust where he belonged. It was like trying to replace the sun with a shitty, cheap flashlight— eventually, it'd just flicker and die.

That Adam was a useful tool for Kenny. Just good enough in the ring to carry a tag-team when Kenny was at the far end of a losing streak. A good bolt of confidence, standing on the shoulders of a younger guy. Before he launched off and took the world title belt he so rightfully deserved. The gleam in Don Callis’ eye when Adam shook his hand told him that this was all part of the plan. Adam was written into the script and he had hit every line. Adam wondered if he was chosen because he was volatile and insecure, and Callis knew that would just push Kenny away. Away and towards Don Callis, and his machinations. Don used Kenny and Kenny used Adam— maybe, it was just Don all along. 

That Adam was a pretty thing Kenny could flirt with. Soft, yielding, supportive, loyal, and eager to put his energy towards someone willing to take it. Like a fucking dog, or something. Hope told Adam there was something to the way Kenny murmured ‘ _cowboy_ ’ to him in their private moments. That Kenny’s interest went beyond physical and a desire to be topped by a handsome guy like Page. The bitter reality, the pessimist and realist in him, told him it was hollow, fake, that he was being played again. Damnit, though, if he wouldn’t take those crumbs. Because he couldn’t say ‘no’ to Kenny when he smiled. Because he loves Kenny and he can't stop loving Kenny. 

He truly was 'eager to please.' 

_“Well, it’s okay. You can’t be number one forever anyway, right? Sometimes you gotta take a back seat, and I don’t mind taking a back seat, if it’s to you, buddy.”_ And Kenny had smiled and nudged his elbow, and Adam hadn’t thought about it as he fiddled with his silly little action figure. When Adam thought back on that interview and thought back on all his twisted thoughts about Kenny, he had almost broken down crying. Because he didn’t know what was true. Kenny was high-up there in his mind and Adam wasn’t sure he could ever shoot him down. 

The second Adam Page snatched the title from Jay White’s hands he had known the truth. The light had shone in his eyes and he had flinched. He realized the cost of fame and fortune. The crossroads he stood at, paralyzed in fear and trembling to make a choice. Maybe, he was grateful when Jay defeated him and he could return to the darkness. However, the taste, the warmth of the light, the way his chest swelled and his heart rose, pure, innocent, like a child seeing his first snow, was addicting. Adam knew that he had to step out of the shadows. Out from behind Kenny, Cody, and the Bucks, or he would perish there in the dark. They were never going to turn around and dredge him out of the abyss. 

Adam had never realized there was a choice, though: his friends or his soul. And he wonders how many times those friends had made it. How many times the Bucks chose some merch sales over him. How many times Kenny chose a title over him. He knows Cody had chosen his ego over him. Was there a balance? Someplace where you can stand in the light and have those you love with you? For flashes of moments, he sees it, in the Golden Elite, or when the Bucks flanked Kenny in the ring. The balance was called love and it could overcome all trials, or so he’s told. It could mediate the choice between yourself and others. 

Yet, Adam knows he’s chosen wrong once or twice, already. So, he’s not sure that kinda love is for him. 

John Silvers was on one knee, hand extended, with a goofy grin that Adam had come to appreciate. For the first time in a year, he had felt light and free. It had been _nice_ to exist in a bubble of appreciation and warmth. Yet, there was no room to wiggle, and like a caged, fearful animal, Adam lashed-out. The wording got to him, on the following night when he was thinking about it. He said: ‘I can’t,’ and not ‘I won’t.’ Like, he was physically incapable of saying ‘yes,’ and yet the Dark Order seemed to think ‘no’ was an impossibility. How did they get so screwed-up? 

Friendships come with obligations and Adam was aware he’d been shirking his. Not because he felt entitled but because he wasn’t sure he could bear the weight. That he wouldn’t take a stumbling step and collapse on his fractured bones. And that would just be a different kind of a disappointment for the Dark Order than just hearing ‘no’ right out the gate. It’d be his failure with the Bucks and Kenny all over again. Anna was right, Adam had to move on, so they could move on, and maybe it left him bitter that he couldn’t utter an apology, but that’s how things shake-out these days. 

The Bucks didn’t want his apology either. 

And now, that brought him back to Matt. 

Matt Hardy reappeared like a literal ghost in the Summer and Adam still wasn’t sure if the whole Damascus thing was a bit or not. Just that while he sat in a warm bath, water up to his knees and bubbles floating around his elbows, he looked up Benjamin Franklin on his phone. _“Franklin was a leading writer, printer, political philosopher, politician, Freemason, postmaster, scientist, inventor, humorist, civic activist, statesman, and diplomat.”_ Given that Adam Page’s passion since childhood was professional wrestling and throwing his delicate body through tables, none of that resonated with him. And he wasn’t sure if Matt meant he really was the reincarnation of a founding father, or if it was just an apt comparison, but something about the phrase: 

_‘Join or Die.’_

Felt like the story of his life. 

Adam’s father kept records of all the songs he listened to when he was growing up. On a rare lazy Sunday, he’d put on the vinyl and let it spin so the music filled the house. Marty Robbins sang of quick finger rangers with big irons on their hips. Waylon Jennings and Lee Greenwood, dreamed of something lost, something mournful, as they rode alone. There was a cost to independence, and beneath the wide brim hat were tired, dark eyes, haunted by those the cowboy left behind. He rode into town looking for a lost love or a home, or just some water for his horse. He’d leave as soon as the plot finished and the town was saved but while the townsfolk rejoiced their salvation, the hero slipped from the jubilee. He was looking for a place he belonged and this was not it, and Adam wondered if _he_ kept looking because there _was_ no place he belonged. 

After Dynamite, he took shots in his living room with his dogs laid over his legs and he thought about his wording. ‘I can’t,’ he told John, because, reasons he couldn’t justify in front of an audience of five thousand. So, it seemed fitting that this odd friendship he developed, with another group looking to use him and throw away, began with Matt Hardy. Began when he eliminated the iconic legend from the ring and ended with Matt Hardy, in the ring, begging Adam not to change in the hallway. 

Adam didn’t believe a single word Matt said. 

He didn’t believe he was a good person who deserved to be happy. He didn’t believe that the Dark Order was awkward — it was, and that’s why he wept with whiskey last week. He didn’t believe that there were no strings attached. He didn’t believe that Matt’s intentions were good or genuine, or even kind. Hell, he never believed John Silver when he called Adam handsome and amazing because that kinda flattery was useless. 

He did believe that Matt was going to use him. He did believe that when Matt Hardy brought down the other shoe it was going to hurt like hell. He did believe that by this point, Adam was so calloused, scarred, and numb, that the pain wouldn’t even register. He did believe that he was so desperate, alone, and miserable, that he’ll take any bone thrown at him. He did believe that whatever plan Matt Hardy cooked-up for him was going to end up with him back in the dirt. He did believe that he no longer cared enough about himself to care. He did believe that all he wanted was a place to hang his hat and to lace his boots. 

He did believe Tony Schiavone when he said, “you should take him up on that.”

Because, shit, who wants to change by catering? 

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say I totally predicted that Adam wouldn't join the Dark Order a couple of weeks ago (I have receipts) and I have never had my ego stroked more thoroughly than when he said, 'no.'
> 
> Some people use drugs to get these levels of endorphins. 
> 
> Meanwhile, I know my muse.


End file.
